


Tears of the Lost

by Writing_is_THORapy



Series: Thor's Mighty Adventures [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Thor Feels, Whump, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_is_THORapy/pseuds/Writing_is_THORapy
Summary: It has been one week since her death, and he has not cried.





	Tears of the Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! So, this is my first fic on AO3 and I hope you like it! I have a serious love for Thor angst and I feel like he's seriously underrated, and isn't written about a whole lot. So, here's this, I'm giving fic writing a shot (well, a second shot, but that's besides the point).... so tell me how I do! 
> 
> This is an AU, so everything after "The Avengers" hasn't happened, but two years or so have gone by since the events of the Avengers, and they all live (or at least have floors in) Avengers Tower. 
> 
> NOTHING BELONGS TO ME. THAT STUFF IS OWNED BY MARVEL (but seriously, if i owned Marvel, that would be, like, a dream come true).

It has been one hour since her death, and he has not cried.

 

Thor considered himself strong, he was an Asgardian after all, a prince among men, but he did not feel very princely at the moment.  

 

HYDRA had taken to attacking some of SHIELD's facilities. No one was quite sure why, nor were they sure how they were finding and infiltrating the bases, but Fury had a theory about a mole. Or moles. Thor hadn't really been listening at the briefing. They would simply swoop in, bomb the place, maybe even send in a few snipers--nothing to high-tech. they weren't even going after the bigger bases, which, of course, was good news for SHIELD, because this meant that they not only did not know about the bases, (or so they assumed), but the clearance level of the supposed mole(s) was not high enough to have access to such information. Nonetheless, it was quite annoying to have to traipse around the globe every week, trying to find at least one HYDRA goon who had been left behind, or some way to find out why. But, HYDRA had spontaneously become very good at cleaning up after themselves, because by the time the Avengers would arrive, the attack would be over and HYDRA would have left. This continued for quite some time. They once _thought_ they had a lead, found an unconscious HYDRA goon with a bullet in his leg, but the guy took cyanide before they could get anything out of him. Sloppy.

 

This continued for quite a few weeks.

 

And then the attacks stopped.

 

Which made SHIELD all the more frantic about finding them, for you always tend to assume the worst when your enemy goes underground.

 

They were just starting to follow a promising new lead when HYDRA attacked an isolated research base in Nebraska a month later, this time with renewed vigor. What they would want with a research base in Nebraska, one that didn't even contain research of that much importance, was beyond them. Either way, the Avengers were called onto the scene.

 

When Thor heard where HYDRA had attacked, his heart dropped to his stomach. He nearly flew out the window so that he could reach her faster (Mjolnir is much faster than Stark's flying metal contraption, no matter what Stark tries to say), but he was stopped by the rest of his comrades.

 

Jane was there.

 

She had been sent there just last week.

 

I'm sure she's fine, they said. SHIELD wouldn't let anything happen to her (lest they upset the mighty god of thunder, Tony adds on).

 

Thor was sure he would be equally as upset if Pepper was there, but he does not voice his inner thoughts. A prince must hold his tongue.

 

The weather was slightly unstable on the ride there, but they couldn't really blame him.

Thor was the first one off of the Quinjet ("Avenjet! It's the Avenjet! Jesus, people, get with the program!" Tony continuously reminds everyone), and he races toward the compound, half of which was a pile of rubble. A medical tent had been hastily set up to the left of the building, so that was where Thor headed, ignoring the shouts of teammates. He makes his way through crowd (his height really helps him in these sort of instances, as well as the fact that he is very well known. Also, Thor could be rather intimating when he wants to be), and finally makes it to the tent, ducking under the flap that had been partially rigged open using some cord. He scans up and down the isles of frantically working doctors (there's so much blood, why must so much innocent blood be spilt) but to no avail.

 

"Excuse me, sir?" Someone addresses him. He looks down to see a nervous looking nurse, blonde hair tied tightly into a bun. "I know you're, well, an _Avenger_ , an' all, but, are you, erm, looking for anyone?"

 

Thor shakes his head and flashes the nurse the quick smile, bids her good day, and exits the tent, his worried no less assuaged.

 

He stalks out of the tent, where Clint (who he assumed had drawn the shortest straw) was waiting.

 

"Didn't find her?" He asks. At the lack of response from Thor, he replies, "Come on, big guy, we need your help cleaning up some of rubble." Thor nods to his teammate, who cheekily smirks back to him in return, and they walk over to where the rest of the team (besides Natasha, of course, who isn't one for this type of heavy-lifting) is cleaning the rubble and loading into a large vehicle. Other mill around, some have dogs on leashes. Thor had seen those dogs before; they were used to find those buried under the debris. He tried not to think about it too much.

 

They kept hauling rubble; medics hauled bodies.

 

The team was taking a quick water break when he saw it; a flash of familiar, silky brown hair, on one of the gurneys being rushing to the medical tent. His water forgotten, Thor leapt upward and dashed after the gurney, worried team in tow.

 

He surges towards the medical tent makes inside--where did they go? He catches a bit of dialogue that grabs his attention.

 

"Jane.... yes, Jane Foster, I believe that was..." He makes his way towards the doctors, who are whispering amongst each other, most likely filling out medical records.

 

"Excuse me," he interrupts, grabbing their attention. "Did you mention one Jane Foster? Can you tell me where I may find her?"

 

"Ah, yes..." One of the doctors stutters out, fiddling with his stethoscope. He points towards the back of the tent, where a slightly translucent divider splits up the tent. "She's right through there, second bed on your right, but--"

 

Thor doesn't catch the rest of what he says as he strides onward. Pushing through the dual-flapped divider, he looks to his right to see....

 

Jane. Bloody, battered, torn apart, but still as beautiful as the day he fell in love with her.

 

"....time of death...."

 

**No.**

 

**Nonononothiscannotbehappeningnonothiswasnotsupposedtohappenwhywhentheyhavesomuchmoretodomoretimemoretimemore....**

 

Her name echoes like a scream in his ears.

 

He can hear nothing else.

 

He cannot breathe.

 

**LetmegotooletmegobutnoIcan'twhycan'tIgotoairIneedair**

 

He stumbles out of the tent, not paying attention to who he bumps into or where he is going, gasping, _clawing_ for breath, futilely reaching for the surface when the only place he going is down, down, down...

 

Thunder and lightning streak the sky, dark clouds blot out the sun, Thor knows that this is him, but he _doesn't care_ , he savors the feeling of the roaring winds blowing through his hair, howling and screaming, a release of emotion that he is too shocked to physically unleash.

 

It has been one hour since her death, and he has not cried. 

* * *

It has been five days since her death, and he has not cried.

 

Even when they lowered her body into the ground, he did not shed a tear. She had not wanted a traditional Asgardian funeral, she wanted to be buried by her beloved parents (Thor did not know how or when this topic came up, or how he knew this, but he did).

 

Even when people were crying all around him, Darcy was sobbing into his shoulder, he was strong.

 

He held the weather at bay.

 

Jane wouldn't have wanted it to rain on her funeral.

 

(They had never discussed this, but he just knew)

 

Even when he went up to the podium to speak, words tumbling out of his mouth like blood spills from an open wound, words of love and pride and emptiness and loss.

 

Even when all those around them bore faces stained with tears of the lost, he did not succumb.

 

Asgardians were strong.

 

Princes were strong.

 

 _He_ was strong.

 

He _must_ be strong, a pillar of strength for those cannot hold themselves up.

 

For his peers.

 

For his friends.

 

For his family.

 

For his Jane.

 

It has been five days since her death, and he has not cried.

* * *

 It has been six weeks since her death, and he has not cried.

 

He thought he would've felt better, especially since they were closer than ever to finding the HYDRA cell responsible, but if anything, this has only given his wounds time to fester.

 

His team tended to look at him nowadays with gazes laced with pity and empathy.

 

Thor knew they tried to hide this, but he could tell.

 

Team bonding exercises were no longer fun.

 

They were just a burden.

 

Futile attempts of enjoyment when all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and stay there forever.

 

He enjoyed training, as well as the various missions they had to go on as Avengers.

 

Well, "enjoyed" wasn't the best word for it.

 

More like _tolerated_.

 

They provided an escape, a distraction, from the feelings he was so desperately trying to smother.

 

Stubborn sparks that refused to go out, no matter how much he would suffocate them.

 

If anything, they just grew brighter.

 

Bruce had tried multiple times to get Thor to talk to some called a “therapist” but Thor did need such paltry remedies.

 

At least, that’s what he told himself.

 

He was simply a ghost, a shell, remnants of his former self.

 

His dreams dripped of red.

 

Red, red, red.

 

Red like blood.

 

Dripping, pouring.

 

He could not stop it.

 

He could not save her.

 

Not in his dreams, nor in his reality.

 

_Drip drip drip_

 

It has been six weeks since her death, and he has not cried.

* * *

 It has been three months since her death, and he has not cried.

 

He thought it would have provided him with some sense of closure, but it did not.

 

They had finally located HYDRA’s main compound, and the Avengers were immediately deployed.

 

They ruthlessly attacked, showing no mercy.

 

Holding nothing back.

 

He attacked with the force of a thousand storms.

 

The Earth trembled, quaked in fear of his wrath.

 

The sky shook with every hammering blow.

 

Thunder drowned out all else as blindingly bright streaks of lightning illuminate the stormy sky.

 

The base was nothing but a black, charred smear on the face of the Earth.

 

Thor flew home alone.

 

His teammates avoided him for the next couple of days.

 

They had never seen him attack with such ferocity, without restraint.

 

The storm was over, but he still felt it raging inside him, a monstrous force so desperately demanding freedom.

 

But he cannot do this.

 

No, he mustn’t be weak.

 

But––

 

He is just so _tired_.

 

**(Can’titendI’mtiredIwantittobeovernomorenomorenomore)**

 

It has been three months since her death, and he has not cried.

* * *

 It has been half a year since her death, and he has not cried.

 

Ever since they took down the HYDRA base, there has been a sudden abundance of down time for the Avengers.

 

Lately, Thor has been pestered by the strange urge to visit New Mexico.

 

Him and Jane owned some land right outside of Puente Antiguo (courtesy of Stark Industries) and had built a rather cozy house there. With two floors and plenty of room for Jane to conduct various experiments involving her research (and for Thor to train), it was the perfect escape after a long mission.

 

As much as he liked his teammates, it was nice to have a place (in Midgard) away from the chaos and noisiness that came with being a part of a world-renowned superhero team.

 

Also, Jane’s trailer was a bit too small.

 

After a particularly troublesome incident involving training sessions and Mjolnir, Thor just couldn’t take it anymore, and left at sunrise the next day, telling the disembodied voice known as JARVIS to let his teammates know that he would be back. At some point.

 

After a three hour (or so) flight, he finally came upon the small, ranch house (he made a mental note to thank Stark for making sure they weren’t evicted). The garden, neglected, had been overrun with weeds, and ivy covered half of the side of the house. The front porch was dusty (it was the desert, after all), and the first step emitted a large groan of protest when Thor put his weight on it. The door creaked. He switched on the lights inside, and inspected the various items that littered the coffee tables and kitchen counters, memories flooding his senses.

 

He trudges up the stairs and into their bedroom, where the bed is neatly made, two pillows on his side, three on hers.

 

(The observance of such quirks, while he may have previously thought to be rather trivial, was not lost to him)

 

He cannot bring himself to eat, for he cannot bear to do so in the absence of another at their weathered and worn table.

 

He sleeps on the couch, for he cannot bring himself to sleep in their bed without her beside him.

 

He is smothered to sleep by memories.

 

The next day, he rises with the sun, and shuffles back upstairs to his closet  in search of clean clothes.

 

He is sleepily groping through his sock drawer when he comes across–– a box?

 

A bit more awake than before, Thor reaches both hands into drawer, pulling out a small Asgardian chest. It is made of furnished wood and embellished with protective runes and enchantments, the edges lined in Asgardian gold.

 

Breathing shakily, he plops down in the closet and, after hastily collecting his thoughts, opens the chest.

 

_Oh._

 

He had forgotten about this.

 

Inside the chest, lined with velvet, is a necklace. The uru-and-quartzite chain was forged by the dwarves of Nidavellir, and the stunning jewel, a piece from the skies and galaxies above, was forged by Thor himself.

 

(Thor had insisted on doing so. After all, if he was going to propose to Jane, he wanted it to be _perfect_.)

 

But alas, it was not perfect at all, for she never saw it.

 

He fumbles in picking up the necklace from the chest, and delicately places the smooth sky-jewel in the palm of his hand, ghosting his fingers over it’s surface.

 

_Oh, Jane._

 

His beloved.

 

He has lost too much.

 

He has gone on for much too long, held captive by his raging demons, the feral storm, suffocated and strangled.

 

A soft whimper escapes from his lips.

 

A tear, one single droplet, falling, falling, falling, alone in a barren world.

 

And then he just cannot stop.

 

He sobs, grasping the sky-jewel like it is a lifeline, great heaving breaths, drowning yet breaking the surface.

 

He weeps tears of the lost, pouring, dripping, _blood_ , so much _blood_.

 

**She’sgoneshe’sgoneshe’sgonewhydidshehavetogowhywhywhy**

 

His anguish echoes likes the screams of a ghost, poignant and haunting.

 

The storm rages on, finally able to rage to pour to––

 

It has been half a year since her death.

 

Thor cries, and the heavens cry, too.

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The necklace was partially inspired by a headcanon I read on http://blandmarvelheadcanons.tumblr.com/


End file.
